“Uh,” he began, whispering harshly and pointing his wand at the wall. “Room of Requirement… open?”
Nothing happened, of course. And then James heard a noise. His senses had grown almost painfully sharp as his body shot full of adrenaline. He listened, his eyes wide. Voices. Franklyn and his dad were coming back already. They must have begun their return journey at almost exactly the same time as James, but a little slower. He heard them talking in hushed voices, probably as they stood by the door into Franklyn’s rooms. His dad would be returning in mere moments.
James thought furiously. What had his dad done to open the room? He had just stood there, hadn’t he, waiting, and then bang, there was the door? No, James recalled, he had spoken first. And paced a bit. James replayed the evening in his memory, trying to remember what his dad had said, but he was too flustered.
Light bloomed at the end of the corridor. Footsteps approached. James looked down the corridor frantically. His dad was approaching, wand lit but held low, his head down. James remembered that he had his own wand held out, his arm outside the cloak. He yanked it in as quickly and silently as he could, arranging the cloak to cover him completely. It was hopeless. His dad would enter the room and see that James wasn’t there. Maybe James could follow him in and claim to have been to his rooms to get a book he needed? He had never been any good at lying. Besides, he’d have the cloak with him. He almost groaned out loud.
Harry Potter stopped in the corridor. He held the wand up and looked at the wall. “I need to get into the room my son is sleeping in,” he said conversationally. Nothing happened. Harry didn’t seem surprised.
“Hmm,” he said, apparently to himself. “I wonder why the door won’t open. I suppose…,” he looked around raising his eyebrows and smiling very slightly, “it’s because my son isn’t sleeping in the Room of Requirement at all, but is standing here in the corridor with me, under my Invisibility Cloak, trying as hard as he can to remember how in the world to open the door. Right, James?”
James let out his breath and yanked the Invisibility Cloak off. “You knew all along, didn’t you?”
“I assumed it when I heard you gasp downstairs. I didn’t know for sure until the trick with the door. Come on, let’s get inside.” Harry Potter chuckled tiredly. He paced three times and spoke the words that opened the Room of Requirement and they went in.
When they were both in their beds, James in the top bunk, staring up at the dark ceiling, Harry spoke.
“You don’t have to follow in my footsteps, James. I hope you know that.”
James worked his jaw, not ready to respond to that. He listened and waited.
“You were down there tonight, so you heard Professor Franklyn,” Harry finally said. “There’s one part of what he said that I want you to remember. There are always plots and revolutions in the works. The battle is always the same, just with different chapters. It isn’t your job to save the world, son. Even if you do, it’ll just go and get itself into danger again, and again, and again. It’s the nature of things.”
Harry paused and James heard him laugh quietly. “I know how it feels. I remember the great weight of responsibility and the heady thrill of believing I was the only one to stop the evil, to win the war, to battle for the ultimate good. But James, even then, that wasn’t my duty alone. It was everyone’s fight. Everyone’s sacrifice. And there were those whose sacrifice was far greater than my own. It isn’t one man’s duty to save the world. And it certainly isn’t the duty of one boy who can’t even figure out how to open the Room of Requirement yet.”
James heard movement from the bunk below. His dad stood, his head rising to look at James in the top bunk. In the darkness, James couldn’t make out his expression, but he knew it nonetheless. His dad was smiling his crooked, knowing smile. His dad knew it all. His dad was Harry Potter.
“What do you think, son?”
James took a deep breath. He wanted to tell his dad about everything he’d seen and heard. It was on the tip of his tongue to tell him about the Muggle intruder, and Cedric Diggory’s ghost, and the secret of Austramaddux, the plot to return Merlin and use him to start a final war with the Muggles. But in the end, he decided not to. He smiled at his dad.
“I know, Dad. Don’t worry about me. If I decide to save the world single-handedly, I’ll send you and Mum a note first. OK?”
Harry smirked and shook his head, not really buying it, but knowing there was no point in pressing the point. He climbed back into the bottom bunk.
Five minutes later, James spoke up in the dark. “Hey, Dad, any chance you might let me keep the Invisibility Cloak with me for the school year?”
“None at all, my boy. None at all,” Harry said sleepily. James heard him roll over. A few minutes later, both slept.
When James and Harry Potter entered the Great Hall the next morning, James sensed the mood of the room change. He was used to the reaction that the wizarding community showed whenever he was out with his dad, but this was different. Rather than turning to look at them, James sensed people looking pointedly in the other direction. Conversations quieted. There was the strange sensation of people glancing at them sideways or turning to watch once James and Harry had passed them. James felt a surge of anger. Who were these people? Most of them were good witches and wizards, from hardworking parents who had always been supportive of Harry Potter, first as the Boy Who Lived, then as the young man who helped bring about the downfall of Voldemort, and finally as the man who was Head Auror. Now, just because some rabble-rousers had painted a few signs and spread around a few stupid rumors, they were afraid to look directly at him.
Even as James thought that, however, he saw that he was wrong. As Harry and James sat down at the end of the Gryffindor table (James had pleaded with his dad not to make him sit up at the teachers’ table on the dais), there were a few grins and hearty greetings. Ted saw Harry, whooped, and ran down the length of table, giving Harry a complicated handshake that involved a lot of banging fists, hand grips and finally, an embrace that was one part hug and one part body slam.
Harry collapsed onto the bench, laughing. “Ted, you’re going to knock yourself clean out one of these times.”
“My godfather, everybody,” Ted said, as if introducing Harry to the room at large. “Have you met Noah yet, Harry? He’s a Gremlin, like me and Petra.”
Harry shook Noah’s hand. “I think we met last year at the Quidditch championship, yes?”
“Sure,” Noah said. “That was the game where Ted scored the winning point for the opposing team. How could I forget?”
“Technically, it was an assist,” Ted said primly. “I happened to wallop their team’s Quaffle carrier through the goal on accident. I was aiming for the press box.”
“Hate to interrupt, but do you guys mind if James and I get a little breakfast?” Harry asked, gesturing toward the table.
“Have at it,” Ted replied magnanimously. “And if any of these malcontents give you any trouble, just let me know. It’s Quidditch tonight, and we hold grudges.” He eyed the room grimly, then grinned and sauntered away.
“I’d tell him not to sweat it, but that’d be taking away his fun, wouldn’t it?” Harry said, watching Ted depart. James grinned. They both began to fill their plates from the steaming platters along the table. As they began to eat, James was pleased to see Ralph and Zane enter. He waved them over enthusiastically.
“Hey, Dad, here’re my friends, Zane and Ralph,” James said as they piled onto the benches, one on either side. “Zane’s the blond one, Ralph’s the brick house.”
“Pleased to meet you, Zane, Ralph,” Harry said. “James tells me good things about both of you.”
“I’ve read about you,” Ralph said, staring at Harry. “Did you really do all that stuff?”
Harry laughed. “Straight shooter, isn’t he?” he said, raising an eyebrow at James. “The major points, yes, those are probably true. Although if you’d’ve been there, it would have seemed a lot less hero
ic at the time. Mostly, me and my friends were just trying to keep ourselves from getting blasted, eaten, or cursed.”
Zane seemed uncharacteristically quiet. “Hey, what’s the deal?” James said, nudging him. “You’re a little too new to all this to have an idol complex about the Great Harry Potter.”
Zane grimaced, and then pulled a copy of the Daily Prophet from his backpack. “This stinks,” he said, sighing and flopping the paper open onto the table, “but you’re gonna see it sooner or later.”
James leaned over and glanced at it. ‘Hogwarts Anti-Auror Demonstration Overshadows International Summit’, the main headline read. Below it, in smaller type: ‘Potter Visit Sets Off School-wide Protest as Magical Community Re-evaluates Auror Policies’. James felt his cheeks flush red with anger. Before he could respond, however, his dad placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Hmm,” Harry said mildly. “That’s got Rita Skeeter’s name all over it.”
Zane frowned at Harry, then glanced at the paper again. “You can tell who wrote it just by the headline?”
“No,” Harry laughed, dismissing the newspaper and digging into a slice of French toast. “Her name’s on the byline. Still, yeah, that is pretty much her typical brand of tripe. It hardly matters. The world will forget it by this time next week.”
James was reading the first paragraph, his brow furrowed furiously. “She says that most of the school was there, protesting and shouting. That’s complete rubbish! I saw it, and if there were more than a hundred people there, I’ll kiss a Blast-Ended Skrewt! Besides, most of them were just there to see what was going on! There were only fifteen or twenty people with the signs and the slogans!”
Harry sighed. “It’s just a story, James. It isn’t supposed to be accurate, it’s supposed to sell papers.”
“But how can you let them say things like this? It’s dangerous! Professor Franklyn--”
The look Harry gave him stopped him from going any further. After a second, Harry’s expression softened. “I know what you are worried about, James, and I don’t blame you. But there are ways of handling these things, and one of those ways isn’t arguing with people like Rita Skeeter.”
“You sound like McGonagall,” James said, dropping his eyes and jabbing at a chunk of sausage.
“I should,” Harry replied quickly. “She taught me. And I think it’s Headmistress McGonagall to you.”
James poked at his plate sullenly for a moment. Then, not wanting to look at it anymore, he folded the newspaper roughly and stuck it out of sight.
“First Quidditch of the season tonight, then, right?” Harry asked, waving his fork at the three boys in general.
“Ravenclaw versus Gryffindor!” Zane announced. “My first game! I can hardly wait.”
James looked up and saw his dad grinning at Zane. “You made the Ravenclaw team, then! That’s very cool. If I can finish early enough, I plan on coming to the match. I look forward to seeing you fly. What position will you play?”
“Beater,” Zane said, pretending to swat a Bludger with his fork.
“He’s pretty good, Mr. Potter,” Ralph said earnestly. “I saw him fly his first time. He just about made a crater in the middle of the pitch, but he pulled up at the last second.”
“That takes some serious control,” Harry acknowledged, studying Zane. “You’ve had broom lessons?”
“Not a one!” Ralph cried, as if he were Zane’s public relations agent. “That’s the amazing bit, isn’t it?”
James looked at Ralph, his face grim, trying to catch his eye and warn him off the topic, but it was already too late.
“He probably wouldn’t have figured it out at all,” Ralph said, “if he hadn’t taken off after James when he did the big outta-control-like-a-bottle-rocket-rumba.” Ralph squirmed on the bench, mimicking James’ inaugural broom flight.
“But you’ll be supporting the Gryffindors, of course!” Zane interrupted suddenly, planting his palm on Ralph’s forehead and pushing him backwards.
Harry glanced around the table, chewing a chunk of toast, a quizzical look on his face. “Er, well, yes. Of course,” he admitted, still looking from boy to boy.
“Yeah, well, that’s cool. I understand completely,” Zane said quickly, waggling his eyebrows at Ralph who was sitting there looking nonplussed. “Be true to your school and all that. Whoo. Look at the time. Come on, Ralphinator. Classes to get to.”
“I have a free period first,” Ralph protested. “And I haven’t had any breakfast yet.”
“Let’s go, ya lunkhead!” Zane insisted, coming around the table and hooking Ralph’s elbow. Zane could barely move Ralph, but Ralph allowed himself to be tugged along.
“What?” Ralph said loudly, frowning at the meaningful look Zane was giving him. “What’d I do? Did I say something I wasn’t--” He stopped. His eyebrows shot up and he turned back to James, looking mortified. “Oh. Ah,” he said as Zane pulled him toward the door. As they rounded the corner, James heard Ralph say, “I’m just a big idiot, aren’t I?”
James sighed. “So yeah, I stink at Quidditch. I’m sorry.”
Harry studied his son. “Pretty bad, was it?”
James nodded. “I know,” he said. “It’s no big deal. It’s just Quidditch. There’s always next year. I don’t have to do it just because you did it. I know, I know. You don’t have to say it.”
Harry continued to stare at James, his jaw moving slightly, as if he was thinking. Finally he sat back and picked up his pumpkin juice. “Well, that’s a load off my chest, then. Sounds like you’ve done my job for me.”
James looked up at his dad. Harry looked back at him as he took a very long, slow drink from his glass. He seemed to be smiling, and hiding his smile behind the glass. James tried not to laugh. This is serious, he told himself. This isn’t funny. This is Quidditch. On that thought, his composure cracked slightly. He smiled, and then tried to cover it with his hand, which only made it worse.
Harry lowered his glass and grinned, shaking his head slowly. “You’ve really been worried about this, haven’t you, James?”
James’ smile faltered again. He swallowed. “Yeah, Dad. Of course I have. I mean, it’s Quidditch. It’s your sport, and Granddad’s, too. I’m James Potter. I’m supposed to be excellent on a broom. Not a danger to myself and everybody around me.”
Harry leaned forward, putting his glass down and looking James in the eye. “And you may still be great on the broom, James. Merlin’s beard, son, it’s your first week and you’ve not even had your first broom lesson, have you? Back when I started here, we wouldn’t have even been allowed to get on a practice broom without lessons, much less try out for the House teams.”
“But even if you had,” James interrupted, “you’d have been excellent at it.” “That’s not the point son. You are so worried about living up to the myth of who I was supposed to be that you aren’t giving yourself a chance to be even better. You’re defeating yourself before you even start. Don’t you see that? No one can compete with a legend. Even I wish I was half the wizard the stories make me out to be. Every day, I look in the mirror and tell myself not to try so hard to be the Famous Harry Potter, but just to relax and let myself be your dad, and your mum’s husband, and the best Auror I can be, which sometimes doesn’t seem to be all that great, to tell you the truth. You have to stop thinking of yourself as the son of Harry Potter…” Harry paused, seeing that James had really heard him, perhaps for the first time. He smiled a little again. “And give me the chance to think of myself simply as James Potter’s dad instead. Because of all the things I’ve done in my life, raising you, Albus, and Lily, are the three things I am proudest of. Got it?”
James smiled again, crookedly. He didn’t know it, but it was the same crooked smile he so often saw on his dad’s face. “All right, Dad. I’ll try that. But it’s hard.”
Harry nodded understandingly and sat back. After a moment, he said, “Am I always that predictable?”
James broke into a knowing g
rin. “Sure, Dad. You and Mum both. ‘You aren’t going outside wearing that, are you?’” Harry laughed out loud at James’ impression of Ginny. James went on. “‘It’s cold in here, put on a sweater! Don’t say that word in front of your grandmum! Stop playing with the garden gnomes or you’ll get green thumbs!’”
Harry was still laughing and wiping his eyes as they said goodbye, promising to meet that evening at the Quidditch match.
7. Broken Loyalty
James’ first class, ironically, was Basic Broom. The teacher was a giant slab of a man named Cabriel Ridcully. He wore a fawn-colored sport cloak over his Quidditch official’s tunic, which displayed his enormous forearms and calves.
“Good morning, first years!” he boomed, and James guessed that Cabe Ridcully was one of the world’s great morning people. “Welcome to Basic Broom. Most of you know me already, having seen me at the Quidditch matches and tournaments and whatnot. We’ll be spending this year getting familiar with the fundamentals of flight. I believe in a very hands-on approach, so we’ll all be jumping right into essential broom-handling and control. Everyone approach your brooms, please.”
James had been dreading getting back onto a broom again, but as the class progressed, he found that, with proper guidance, he was able to manage getting his broom to levitate and support him, and even control its altitude and speed in very small formations. He realized that there were subtle variations in how the broom responded, based on speed and inclination. If the broom was merely hovering, leaning forward on the broomstick pressed it forwards, while pulling up drove it backwards. Once the broom was moving, however, those same controls began to also manage height. The faster the broom was moving, the more James’ posture controlled altitude instead of speed. Finding the fine difference between a speed-lean and an altitude-lean was dependent entirely on the velocity of the broomstick at any given time. James sensed that the slightest panic would cause him to lose even the tiny degree of control he had already learned, and he began to understand why he’d been so dreadful during the Quidditch tryouts.
James Potter and the Hall of Elders' Crossing Page 18